Garret Cross and the Den of Serpents
by Elinvar
Summary: A half-blood raised by muggles falls into "the wrong crowd" on the train and is sorted into Slytherin. The golden trio only saw one side of Hogwarts, follow Garret Cross and his classmates from sorting to the end of wizarding war. Focus on Professors, OCs background characters, and setting, as well as seeing the golden trio form outside.
1. Chapter 1: A Turbulent Introduction

Hey everyone reading this, hopefully there's more than one of you!

This is my first fic, I'm focusing on OCs and minor characters because it gives me more freedom, and I want to avoid contradicting cannon where possible, while adding to Rowling's world. It's inevitable that I'll be influenced by Methods of Rationality, and will be using scientists looking at magic as a theme, but nowhere near to the same degree.

I welcome any feedback, and am early enough in this project that I will make changes to things I have planned. I expect to go through 9 years of these characters lives, form 1989 when they start at Hogwarts (same year as the Weasley twins) to the end of the wizarding war, the timeline may diverge, and although I'm covering what I cover in detail, there will be time-skips a plenty.  
The narrative focus is on what its really like in Slytherin, not the one dimensional evil Harry sees, but the full spectrum of mislead good to complicated evil.

Thanks again for reading, and especially for feedback!

* * *

Garret Cross was standing outside his mother's north Kent house in the rain on an unseasonably cold August morning waiting for a sorcerer.  
 _Can there really be such thing as magic schools though?_ He thought, squinting as the rain sticking his dusky brown hair to his face and then running cold, into his green eyes.

Surely if magic was real one of his teachers, or friends or someone would have told him about it. The professors on the BBC, or the Discovery Channel surely would have known, there would be programs on magic, or books at the library, everyone would have to know about it right?  
 _You can't really just hide magic with more magic can you?_

And yet the letter with had been delivered by an owl. And not just that, it was a barred owl, which according to the book he and his mother had taken out from the library to identify it, it was native to north America and so had no business what so ever being here in the UK. It couldn't have flown over by itself, and someone clearly addressed the letter to him. Him, Garret Cross, not his mother, oddly enough. Since when do 11 year olds get mail?

Hopefully this mysterious professor McGonagall would show up soon and set things straight. Sooner rather than latter would be nice- Cross was getting cold.

11:16. _She might be late, I'll give here another half hour I guess, provided I don't freeze first_. Thought the boy morosely.

There was a sharp crack, and a smell like ozone and rose petals, and a six foot tall witch (including her pointy hat) was suddenly standing in front of Garret, beside his post-box. Just as suddenly Garret was his back in the mud and might have died of embarrassment given the noise he'd just made if he hadn't been so distracted by shock.

"Garret Cross, I presume." Said the witch in a voice so precise and hard that only the people who knew her well could have known she was restraining a chuckle.

"Y-yes mam, er, miss? Aeh, professor McGonagall?" the boy stumbled over his words, but hastily stood up, and tried to regain his composure, and extended his hand, then realizing that it was dripping with mud and water pulled it back and instead said; "Would you like to come in?" in a proper, polite voice he almost never used.

Moments latter Professor McGonagall, Mrs. Cross, and a now toweled off Garret were sitting across from each other at the Cross's dinner table, the women both having steaming cups of tea set before them.

"Soo…" Started Abbey Cross, once Abbey Meier, awkwardly across the table. "So you're a… A witch?" She whispered the last word apologetically, waving a strand of dark brown hair off her forehead.

"Indeed." Said the professor in her crisp, Scottish accent. "I know there is often a negative association with the term in the muggle world, but I assure you we take it as a mark of pride in the magical community."

She sipped her tea with movements even more precise than her accent, and continued.  
"Now, I'm sorry to say Mrs. Cross but, well there is simply no easy way to say it but you have been terribly misused by the government of magical, and I would beg your pardon for that," She said looking down, and inclining her head sadly.  
"Your husband… How much do you remember of him?"  
Garret's mother was sitting bolt upright and slightly pale. Her voice quavered slightly, in that way she did when she had been, or was about to start crying.

He'd asked about it a year and a half ago, and now he pretended not to notice when it happened. His mother pretended not to notice that he noticed as well.

"I'm not sure what exactly you magical people know about things here, but I'm suffer from a disease known as Alzheimer's, which makes it difficult for me to recall certain portions of my life. We were in an auto crash- Julian and I. The doctors think it was caused by that, that when I hit my head…"

Garret reached for her hand to comfort her, but she didn't move. The quaver in her voice had disappeared, but it had a tinge of anger in it now, as she stood up, her fingers whitening as they clenched the tablecloth into fists.

"That accident stole my husband away from me; both his life and most of my memories of him as well. Even the things I remember… they seem fuzzy, and strange, but they're all I have. I sincerely hope you have point in asking me that, or else you can just…  
…you can…

… I'm sorry, I shouldn't lose my temper. How could you know after all?"

She sat down, and fixed her hair nervously. "Funny that, sometimes things make me… Makes it hard to control my emotions, its part of the disease."

"No, Mrs. Cross, Your anger is entirely appropriate. Your husband did not die in a vehicle collision. He perished during the wizarding war."

What- Garret started to ask, before cutting himself off. He wasn't even looking at his mother, but he could feel fury coming form her direction. The room was silent apart form a thin pattering of rain on the windows.

"As you have surmised the magical world has policies in place to stop the non-magical world from learning about our existence. Julian told you enough about the magical world to get you into trouble it seems, and when you-" She paused to clear her throat -"When you went looking after the circumstances of his death you became- well you breached the International Statute of Secrecy, and so your memories were altered. Its unfortunate, but necessary to prevent conflict between magic users and non-magic users, however it seems that in your case the memory charm refused to take hold. In fact you resisted it time and time again."

"You what?" Mrs Cross's voice was a hiss. "You've been altering my memories?" The sound a boiler reaching maximum pressure would make when fueled with nothing but pure hate. It wasn't a question, it was an accusation. Garret didn't want to be in this room anymore. He wasn't sure he wanted to be anywhere. His mind wasn't working right.

McGonagall spoke again, sadly, gently, but still precisely; "The memory charm is usually harmless, however you would not be dissuaded form your line of inquiry. It simply didn't work properly on you, and so the Oblivators had to remove more and more of your memory, and repeat their charms. From what I understand of muggle doctors they diagnosed you with a disease based on the symptoms, which were caused by overzealous or overworked Oblivators who didn't take proper care in-"

"And you think." Mrs. Cross said, still hissing "That is acceptable." It was a statement that didn't leave room for argument. McGonagall, apparently, disagreed.

There was the slightest pause before the witch began to protest she didn't have time to finish, as the younger woman flung her teacup at her in one fluid motion switching directions, letting out a rising growl and hurling her chair at McGonagall, closely followed by a flurry of strikes.

The teacup smashed on once invisible barrier, which flared blue at the impact, followed by the chair which bounced away, but either some of the kinetic energy got through, or the surprise of the attack sent the witch stumbling backwards. Even in surprised retreat, the McGonagall was a veteran of the wizarding war, and her wand was in her hand almost instantly and with a quick flicking motion pushed the other woman backward, even as the spider-web cracks of the blue shield knitted back together and vanished. Another flick of her wand stopped the muggle in mid air. And then another series of flicks accompanied some unpronounceable syllables which caused strong vines to grow form from the wood cabinets and floor, as if it weren't long dead and encased in varnish, and grasped Mrs. Cross's limbs keeping her suspended and helpless.

Slower than his mother, but still following her lead Garret had stood up and grabbed a chair which he had begun to hoist before the professor held out her right hand, as if motioning him to stop, and he froze, entirely unable to move his limbs.

Professor McGonagall scratched her head and sighed as she lowered her wand.  
"If it makes you feel any better Mrs Cross, you would had me at your mercy if I hadn't put up a kinetic shield before arriving, just in case. Although I really had hopped it wouldn't be necessary."

Mrs. Cross swore furiously at the other woman, who put up a quieting charm around her son and took the verbal abuse for several minutes, until her rage was spent, or at least less loud, and she took the silence off of Garret.

"What my government has done to you is entirely unfair. It was during a war, and people often do not act as they should during such times. I am here to try and make that right. I am going to walk over to you now, and I am going to try and restore your memory as best I can. Is that alright?"

"You… Yes do it." She said after a pause.

The witch took a couple of steps forward and tapped the muggle's forehead head with the tip of her wand and she relaxed, and they stayed like that for several minutes as Garret tried to yell, tried to move, but could not.

Finally, McGonagall turned around and let Mrs. Cross down into a sobbing heap and allowed her son to run to her.

As garret held her, unsure of what to do, she whispered "I remember" again, and again, and laughed a dust-choked sound. Eventually she stood up, her son still clinging to her.

"Thank you Professor McGonagall. But… this isn't it is it? I know there is more, but are they…"

"More memories might return in time," the old witch said, looking and sounding much older than she looked now. "But I do not expect much; the Oblivators used entirely too much force and, it is likely that some memories will not be recoverable. I'm not sure how much comfort it is to you, but I'll see to it that the people who did this to you are brought to justice. I have some connections within the ministry."

"Right." The younger woman said.

"Does this mean that mom isn't going to… forget things anymore?" asked Garret, his eyes still burning.

"That… is mostly true. I was not able to repair all of the damage, and I'm not entirely sure why, however I can return with potion capable of healing almost any injury. With it you should make a full recovery."

The next few hours passed in a blur for Garret, and concluded with him agreeing to go to Hogwarts School for witchcraft and wizardry, and be instructed in the magical arts. Under normal circumstances he would have had uncounted questions, but he was far too occupied by his emotions and a feelings of shock. He was a wizard, like his father before him. His father had died in some sort of secret war. He had been a soldier, it sounded like. And the magical world had messed with his mother's mind so much she had trouble holding onto memories, even ones unrelated to her husband.

 _But McGonagall could fix everything, with a simple wave of her wand and a healing potion, like it was nothing. Is she a magic doctor?_ Garret wondered before drifting off to sleep that night. _Can they just magic away any disease they want?_  
Garret's mom had learned how to fight a long time ago, before she'd met his father, but it hadn't mattered. _McGonnagall had shields. Shields! Like on Star Trek!_ _Mom hadn't been able to fight the people who stole her memories either._

 _Was there any way to hurt a wizard at all? Without being a wizard yourself anyway.  
But if that was the case why were they so secretive? The prime directive?  
_Garret had never really understood the point of the prime directive. It just seemed to get in the way of Kirk and Picard doing the right thing, and it's not like they didn't just break it when it was important. Maybe that's how it was for wizards.

 _Or maybe_ , the boy thought, before drifting off to sleep, _maybe the world needs a hero to go and break it._


	2. Chapter 2: Reassurance and Illusion

The next day Professor McGonagall apparated again to give Abbey the potion she promised. She also gave Garret a copy of Hogwarts a History, one of the books he'd need for the year. Despite it being pristine and well taken care of, the loose spine and slightly yellowed pages marked it as an older and well used book.  
 _I wonder if it's hers. The professor does look like the sort of person who would care for her books, and she's been nice to us, especially given the circumstances._

Garret thanked her sincerely, which caused the middle-age witch to smile in a way that was discontinuous with her image of being equal parts wicked witch of the west and severe school mistress, and for that reason was actually rather pleasant.

She didn't seem comfortable staying around the house though, and left promptly, but not before the Crosses had apologized for attacking her, for probably the sixth time.

In her haste she missed Garret's Uncle, Adam Meier, who was coming to visit that day.

"Hello Sis, Hello little Garret! How are you both doing?" Adam boomed as he walked into the living room, setting down his things. "Uncle Bear!" Garret yelled as he ran over to embrace the Cambridge professor of Chemistry. He had well earned the nickname of 'bear' being a huge and bearded man, his barrel chest straining his suspenders contrasting against the rest of his families' more lithe frames. All together he looked more like an archetypal Canadian lumberjack than your typical academic.

"How are you doing little bear?" He said, effortlessly picking up his nephew with one arm, and leaning in to hug his sibling. "You look… well the both of you," he lied, rather poorly, noticing his sister's still tear-stained face. She had been crying on and off since she had gotten her memories back; it wasn't easy sorting through years of lost time, of a lover she had only been made to forget.

"Here Garret; I brought something for you" the man said, bending down and passing Garret heavy box which read; Magician's kit, which depicted a child in a top hat holding cards and a wand.

Garret's eyes widened "You know about Hogwarts too! This is great! Thank you Uncle Adam!" and he began to open it, oblivious to his mother's face going suddenly pale.

"Hogwarts? Is that some game kids are playing now days? Anyway why don't you get started on that while I talk to your mother in the other room. Who knows" he said, rustling the boy's hair, "maybe you'll have mastered the ring trick by the time I get back."

Garret nodded, happily, as he opened the box and examined all the wonderful devices within, as the two adults went to the kitchen for some tea, and more serious matters.

"How's it going sis? Anything I can help you with?" He asked, as Abbey choked slightly unable to meet his eyes. She'd never liked lying, and trying to keep this form family was… was…

"No, I… Actually things are going really well. I saw the doctor the other day, and it seems that I'm in remission, I've" she had to pause again to steady herself, she'd always considered herself a strong person, but the emotional weight of years of love and loss is not something one can deal with in only a day. She still cursed what she considered weakness in herself as she met her brother's gaze with a melancholy smile.

"I've started remembering things as well. It can be a bit overwhelming at times."

"That's, That's unbelievable!" The man said jumping to his feet. "You're getting better!" I mean, he hushed his voice suddenly, "are you sure, I mean, have you told Garret yet?"

"Yes, he knows. He's going to be attending a new private school as well soon," she chuckled, not quite naturally, "with all their formal uniforms he's gotten it into his head that it's a school for sorcerers!"

"Oh that's fantastic! Just as well I got him that magic kit then. It's important you know; that he learns early to be skeptical of claims of the supernatural. Once you learn how the trick is done you can't be taken in by it. Who knows, with his chutzpah I bet he'll be showing those so called magicians a thing or two before long!" Said the scientist, so wrapped up in the pleasant thought that he didn't notice that his sister was sweating nervously at the close call.


	3. Chapter 3: Gentility and G-forces

It was a couple of days latter that professor Sinistra knocked on the Cross's door to take Garret to Diagon Ally. She was about six feet tall; her ebony skin was nearly as dark as her hair. Unlike McGonagall she was dressed deep violet robes with geometric orange patterns Garret thought were probably traditional dress somewhere in Africa

 _I guess they have different magical traditions in different countries, probably have different spells, or even different kinds of magic too. I wonder if we'll get wizards form all over the world at Hogwarts to teach us voodoo and Viking runes and chi and stuff?_

"Pleased to meet you" he said, with a small bow. He'd been drilled in making a good impression pretty consistently throughout his life, since it didn't come naturally to him. His mother had made it very clear that he was to be on his best behavior at school, especially in front of the professors, since they would probably turn him into a newt instead of detention. "I'm Garret Cross, and I guess you're professor Sinistra right?"

"Indeed I am, and charmed to meet such a polite young boy as well." She said, smiling and bending down to shake Garret's hand. Her smile was warm and kind, and so white that it made Garret want to go and brush his teeth again.

"Yes, and hopefully he'll _keep_ giving you his best behavior, Professor." Said Abby Cross, moving to sand behind her son. She looked a bit disheveled, as if she hadn't slept well, but she was smiling.

"Do not worry Mrs. Cross," Said the tall witch with what Abbey knew was a slight, but rich accent born of French and a language she didn't know, "I have taken muggleborns to fetch their school supplies before, and although they are usually a handful, we have two hands for exactly that reason! May I come in?"

"Of course, but…" Started Mrs. Cross, getting out of the way, "…I mean I could put on the tea if you'd like."

"No, no, do not worry yourself," Said Sinistra as she closed the door behind her. "I'm leaving pleasantly, but we wouldn't want your neighbors to see me dissaparating would we? I even took the bus to this neighborhood so as not to raise as much suspicion. Do you have your list of supplies and acceptance letter Garret?" The boy nodded and pulled the papers from his backpack.

"I see. That's very considerate of you, but won't they notice when you don't leave?"

"I have also thought of that Mrs. Cross; If they ask you may tell them that I am an old friend you met on exchange, or whatever pleases you, and I will apparate back here at around 4:00 or so. I will contact you via a short-range-sending spell if I anticipate being late or early." She said, her pause implying the question, although it was hard to contradict the woman who had obviously put some thought into her plan. Abby merely nodded.

"Alright mister Garret, you have not apparated before yes? It can be a little rough the first time, like a _coup_ in the chest." She said, striking a fist into her solar plexus to better express the French word. "You must take a deep breath, and then push it all out before traveling. It may be a bit, surprising the first time. Whenever you are ready."

"Okay, then." Said Garret as he started breathing in and out, and deepening his breaths and bouncing up and down on his toes. "Does that mean we're pulling Gs like a fighter pilot?"

"Like a… what?"

"He's asking if you'll be accelerating faster than you'd normally fall." Grinned the boy's mother.

"Accelerating? Like in Newton's Principia? Your son is already reading texts that advanced?!" She said, seemingly impressed even that Abby knew something of dynamics.

"Hardly," smirked the boy's mother. "Although the basics are widely known to us non-magical folk, and his uncle is a professor of science."

"I see. That is good; it has been my experience that students with some muggle education do better in my class; astronomy." She smiled. "I think that apparation is not quite like that, but you will feel a pull, ready?" She asked, grabbing hold of his hand, "Good breath out, and a little more, and- **POP**


	4. Chapter 4: Tropes and Traps

Garret felt a pull on his core, and the world whirled as if someone had grabbed him by the sternum and flung him around in a brutal Krav maga throw which somehow failed to hit the ground, but kept him spinning for just a little too long before he suddenly found himself standing, with no apparent impact or deceleration in the back courtyard of a pub, facing a brick wall which must have belonged to a house of some kind.

"Wow!" Garret said taking a couple stumbling of steps and nearly collapsing, but managing to hang on to his professor.

"Not bad eh?" She said with a wry smile. "It certainly beats the bus!"

"Yea!" he said, regaining his feet and dusting himself off as he looked around. "That must be what Wolverine feels like when Magneto picks him up with his magnetic powers." And then, seeing the odd look and remembering that wizards apparently didn't know anything important about muggle life, like who the X men were, wend on explain it to her, "… it's a comic book, don't you wizards have those?"

"No, not quite like that, anyway." Admitted the teacher, "We do have graphic novels, but I fear you'll find them less… imaginative." She finished with a smile.

"Oh," said Garret, "How does it work? Teleportation that is."

"Magic" She said matter of fact-ly as she withdrew a wand and tapped a series of bricks in the wall before the whole thing warped open like an iris, bricks sliding apart free of their mortar.

"Wha- bu- that's not a-" But he cut himself off and gaped at the spectacle, and reached out to touch one of the bricks, seemingly suspended by nothing on an angle as mortar dust swirled around the whole.

 _It's cold! Like water, I can feel something running over it. Nope, can't move it much, it's held here good. It's like really strong magnets, sort of._

"That's really strange. Are these real bricks or are they some kind of- what's that!"

The boy interrupted himself as he realized that was through the portal which had opened in the wall; it looked like some sort of magical bazaar, and he stepped through thoughtlessly, feeling a sensation like passing under a warm waterfall, although his clothes didn't get wet, and he looked around to see Sinistra behind him, but was too in awe to say anything.

There were unimaginable spices, Deva's tears, monster jugs (containing an assortment of monsters), Gorgon salve, dozens of potions and oils, books, broomsticks, animals both quasi-mundane and quasi-magical, cauldrons, robes and wizard hats, dust of traceless-ness, dust of tactlessness, dust of sneezing, and dust of visibility inversion, and who knew what else.

They walked together through Diagon Ally for a few minutes in silence, Garret's head turning around, desperately trying to see everything, and his teacher enjoying his wonder second hand.

"Professor," Garret asked after a while, "there's so much stuff, where do they sell the magic swords?"

"Now why would you want a magic sword?" She laughed.

"Well, because they're cool! Also, I might have to fight an army of evil goblins or something!" he said, making sword slashing motions in the air ahead of them.

A shadow crossed the teacher's face briefly, although her face was mostly natural. "Goblins aren't, in general evil Mr. Cross. They're people just like you or I."

"Goblins are real? What about elves and dwarves and Chocobos? Wait, do dragons exist too? What about Unicorns, oh or Ents? Or Vampires or – or –

"Slow down Garret." Sinistra said with a relaxed chuckle. "Of that list I only have not heard of Ents and Chocoah, Chooko, Chocobos? Is that how it's said? Although the world is large, so that does not mean that they do not exist. Magical creatures usually keep themselves hidden form muggles and wizards alike, if they can. Oh, and although I have heard of the Dwarves in tales, as far as I know there has been no contact between them and human-kind in centuries.

Goblins in particular you will soon see, as they run Gringots, the central bank of magical Brittan."

"Goblins run the bank?" Asked Cross, "Why is that?"

"They are fond of gold, and are good at protecting and keeping track of it. They have magic's which they keep secret form wizards as we keep wand lore secret from them, and their magic allows them prevent anyone form counterfeiting their coins, and so they are used widely because everyone can be sure they are real."

"Oh," said the boy, "But normal money isn't managed by goblins, so does that mean a wizard could just conjure up, like a bajillion pounds?!"

"I suppose," Laughed Sinistra, "but they'd need whatever a 'bajillion' pounds weighs in raw materials, and a _lot_ of time on their hands. Also, it would still be against the law."

Soon they were in front of the bank; a looming crooked structure of white and black marble, of polished oak, and glass and above all gold. At the entrance you had to step through a waterfall of mist which was cold, then be blasted by unworkably dry air with soot in it, then stand for a few minutes between a pair of sparkling mirrors until the dust floated onto them. The worst part though, was that the short armoured figures of goblin guards ignored him until Sinistra had to remind him that goblins hated questions.  
 _That's on point against Goblins in my book._ Garret thought, crossing his arms.

Sitting at rows of desks and rushing around conducting there clerical tasks were the short, gruff (and not quite as ugly as Garret had imagined) goblins. As they confirmed Garret's identity using his Hogwarts letter and a sample of his blood, he couldn't help feeling that they were judging him. Feeling their dark eyes on him, all pupil, or at least all dark, as they shuffled paper and gold on their over-high desks gave him the creeps. What's more, the impression of being surrounded by dozens of Scrooges, just waiting for a chance to force you to work through Christmas.

They followed a gobbling though a set of doors, down some stairs, and through a couple of passageways after which Garret became completely lost, which was only exasperated by a cart ride, which fun, up until he realized he was completely dependent on the goblin if he ever wanted to get out of here,

It was large, if rather empty dark stone room. In one corner were a couple of chests, and against the wall were a couple of sets of leather armour, one brown and obviously padded, the other dark, hardened and stitched with thin blue runes. There was also a broomstick with a seat and foot rests, and a large shield emblazoned with a dragon bearing its fangs sat on top of a pile of what looked like gold.

Garret immediately ran up to the shield and reached out to touch it.

"I wouldn't do that." Came the unhurried, nasal voice: their goblin escort. He was called Griphook, and this was the most he'd said the entire trip. "Everything left in here is cursed, and the so the rest of your family decided to leave it in our care, rather than pay for curse-breakers." He smiled evilly.

 _You would think he was hoping I'd get cursed. On the other hand he did warn me…_

"Wait, what rest of my family? The rest aren't wizards." The boy asked.

"Did you think your father didn't have any relatives did you boy?" Said the goblin, still sneering at him. "Cousins and uncles and Aunts and so on. He had no will, and so it goes to his family. It seems he didn't tell them about _you._ Can't imagine why." His face wrinkled further in mock confusion. "Or perhaps they just found it convenient to forget you existed and take what they pleased. Used to be a fair pile of galleons in here if I recall… Hmm… Robbed by your own relatives, shows something of your blood eh?"

 _That stupid squat pointy looking…_ Garret clenched and unclenched his fists while anger rose inside him. _Their limbs are pretty stumpy, and their gait looks really awkward. I could probably take one or two on in a fight, provided they don't have magic. Which probably means they definitely have magic._

"That's uncalled for Mr. Griphook." Said Sinistra Icily.

"Never respect property, humans." The goblin almost spat the last word, ignoring the professor. "I don't expect you'll turn out much different as a half blood. Come to think of it, could be you're relatives have never even heard of you." He said, smiling as if a wonderful thought had just occurred to him.

"Shut up!" Garret said, taking a step forward. _IF goblin magic is slow, or needs concentration I should be able to stun him with a front kick, grab the arm…_

Griphook just grinned all the more. "Yes. Probably never heard of you because you were your daddies dirty little-"

"Have the goblins of Brittan become so petty and bitter that they pick on children to satisfy their grievances against wizard kind?" Sinistra cut him off, her words so cold they ought to have frozen the nitrogen out of the air. Garret looked over at Sinistra who was rounding on the goblin menacingly. Her wand wasn't out, but she was obviously a much greater threat than an eleven year old, and the goblin knew it.

"Coddle the boy if you want. It's not my problem." He said, crossing his stubby arms, "He'll see it sooner or latter anyway." Finished the goblin, turning on his heel and leaving the vault to stand outside.

Garret was still angry, but less so after seeing him run away form his teacher. "I thought you said goblins weren't evil." He said, after he thought Griphook was out of earshot.

The woman sighed "They are not. Not as a rule. However there is a long standing feud between our two races, and between some wizarding and goblin families in particular. If ever one of your family made an enemy of a goblin family they may hold it against you, even after a hundred years. Or it could be no other reason than that you are a human, and you are here. I would recommend that you put it out of your mind."

"Right." Said Garret, not entirely convinced, "But we still need to get at the gold under that shield. Do you know what kind of curse it might be under?"

Sinistra withdrew her wand and after tracing some symbols in the air, and a few minutes of chanting she explained that there were actually a couple of different curses, she could remove the ones on the armour and their stands, and one of the chests, but the shield and the area around it was set to cause a feedback loop with any magic which touched it, making the obvious solution of levitating the shield impossible. The choice now, she mused, was if it would be better to go get a curse breaker, or buy Garret's school supplies with the small fund allotted to him as ward of Hogwarts.

"So you can't use magic on the shield because it will harm you, and you can't touch it either?" The boy asked, after considering the problem for a minute.

"Correct."

"Well, couldn't you just move the shield out of the way with a long stick?"

Sinistra chuckled slightly at his naïveté, curses don't care about technicalities like that was what she started to say, but then stopped herself. The shield was protected by curse, but the curse itself was held in place by a series of runes, and runes did check for exact conditions. And these conditions had a flaw, one so obvious most wizards would never even think of it.

Sinistra burst out into laughter now, at the absurdity of it. Someone went through a fair bit of trouble to protect this sum of money, only to be foiled by an eleven year old child with no magical training and a stick.

"I would award you house points if you were sorted Mr. Cross, although I suspect you may be bound for Ravenclaw. Although I should remind you that many cursed items are more difficult to deal with than this."

After the professor un-cursed everything she could, they took the stand holding the leather armour, which garret learned was protection for a game called Quidditch, and used it to remove the shield from over top the gold and push it safely into a corner. Garret guessed that the pile of gold, silver and bronze coins was enough to make him a millionaire in muggle Brittan (and he wasn't far off) he wrongly assumed that this would carry over to the magical world, and Sinistra had to reign in his expectations; although it was plenty to get him through his education, he it wasn't much by wizarding standards, and he should only expect to be able to live off it for a year after graduation.

Gold newly in hand, or rather in a bag of holding the professor carried, and refused to explain to Garret, they reluctantly climbed back into the mine cart with a sulky Griphook and returned to the surface.


	5. Chapter 5: Selective Staves

The tall witch led her student from Gringots, explaining that the most important thing for a witch or wizard to have was wand.

"I'm afraid I know relatively little of wand making, but right here in Diagon Ally lives the greatest wand maker in the world, or at least in Europe. Choosing your want is a little bit like trying on shoes, it can take a long time to find something comfortable! So while you're doing that, I'll see if I can't assemble most of your school supplies."

"But, but, I want to see all the stuff!" Garret pleaded.

"After this you still need to be fitted for your school robes," Sinistra said, "which is known to take time as well. If you finish early you wait for me in Flourish and Blots, just over here. I take it that won't be a problem?"

Garret nodded enthusiastically. Sinistra liked to play a game with herself while she was out with new students, of guessing which house they would be sorted into. Ravenclaws were usually the easiest to spot, and she was starting to lean on it more with Garret, seeing the solution to the runes wasn't a sure thing, it wasn't like it was difficult, just a little unconventional, but the boy's obvious interest in reading was a strong indication in favour of her house, although he had some Gryffindor traits as well. She found Gryffindors could be difficult to spot, presumably because true courage can only be shown in the face of danger, but it were Slytherins who always seemed trip her up. In her opinion the house of Salazar seemed claim a couple students who certainly would have been better placed in other houses each year. Or perhaps not; she was not a Legilimens, she couldn't read the student's thoughts and it must be the nature of guile to appear different from what you truly are, she thought as she left her charge in front of a sign which read

 **Ollivanders;** **Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.**

 _382? Wow, that's really old_ Thought Cross. _Hold on, did it say B.C.!? Were people even living here that long ago? And the same family is working there? Wait that would make this shop… 2200 years old?!_

Olivanders (yes, the sign was misspelled that way, although if it's content was to be believed that the sign above the door might have predated the modern rules of punctuation, and so wasn't exactly wrong) was jam-packed with hundreds, no thousands of small long boxes containing wands, but that wasn't the impressive part.

The experience of being surrounded by magic is difficult to convey if you haven't experienced it, maybe impossible if you are a muggle and thus lack the 'sixth' sense required to perceive magic. As inexperienced as Garret was with the arcane it was obvious Olivanders was in a completely different category than anything he'd experienced before, and it power of the place was quite distracting. Going into your average shop in diagonally (although calling any of these shops average would do them a great disservice) and would feel something like a slight drop in pressure; a slight tug at your insides, from all the enchantments around. Walking into Olivanders felt like every part of your body was being tugged on by countless, fluffy, atom-sized kittens while thousands of incredibly beautiful people looked down at you and giggled.

Garret had never wanted to run so much in his life.

"Ah, Mr. Garret, Cross. Dropped off the face of the world I hear, good to see you returned to us." Intoned a man who had appeared silently at the top of the altogether too narrow, dark, peeling staircase which lead to the second level of the shop.

Something about his frazzled hair, creased and creased robes put Garret off, but not so much as his eyes, which appeared to be robins egg blue, did not blink, lacked much of any white, and contained altogether too much sclera for such tiny pupils.

Never mind, _now_ Garret had never wanted to run more in his life.

Instead, he was frozen, unable to so much as breathe.

"Your father had an interesting life, as I understand it. I wonder which of is his footsteps you'll follow in… if indeed you follow him at all." He strafed sideways down the stairs more than walked, eyes scanning the wall of boxes in front of him.  
"ah, try this on here; 15", oak, unicorn hair, stiff, with an affinity for curses. This is not too different from what your father used, when I sold him his wand."

The old man passed Garret a dark wood stick with a slight curl to the point, and a short beak-like hook below the handle, which he took with both hands in a way he hoped was sufficiently reverent to the object and examined it, his fear melting somewhat at being handed a magic item.

"Oh that's right, you haven't been raised in our world, poor boy. Maybe this one won't be… never mind, we'll see. You have to give it a wave, not too hard, just a little flick."

Holding the ornate stick, despite its magic it still felt mostly like a stick, in his right hand and flicked it in the general direction of one of the shelves. The tip made a sound like glass breaking in slow motion as it tore a flaming scar in the air, which moved like a whip, burning a long diagonal slash into the unfortunate piece of wood.

"No! No, certainly not unicorn. I should have expected that. Although first impressions are not usually quite so… violent." Olivander said as he snatched up the wand. "I think you might need something with a bit more… spring."  
"Here, try this one; willow with phoenix down."

Garret took the new wand and looked it up and down, and managed not to ask if he could resurrect someone form the dead if he broke this wand over them for it's primary ingredient.  
He gave it a gentle flick into an isle, but nothing seemed to happen, until he sneezed and covered himself in multi-coloured glitter.

"Well, chuckled the old man, that's not a common reaction. A lot more calm though. Maybe…"

This process, of Olivander muttering to himself, passing Cross a wand, something either underwhelming or dangerous looking happening, repeated more times than he could count, and although this might not really have been magic, it was still taking its toll.  
Panting, cleaning the remains of the rain-cloud he'd just vomited off his shirt, and beginning to wonder if he'd ever be able to use magic, Cross was barely aware of Olivander muttering to himself. "Well, nothing else has worked… maybe its finally your turn old friend." Before vanishing to the back of the shop.  
A few seconds latter he returned with am incredibly dusty hard-wood box, rather than the cardboard ones they'd been using up till now.

"This particular bit of craftsmanship…" said the aged wand-maker "was an experiment by my father when he was a mere 60 years of age." He opened the box, "Just under 14 and 1/6th inches, two dragon heart-strings, ironwood."

Olivander was right, this one was different. The wand was thin, but looked more solid than the others somehow. It might have been how dark it was, or that Olivander had said it was made of ironwood, but it was probably that unlike the other wands he's seen today this one had a cross guard. It was a small one, just decorative, really, but it made the wand feel a bit more like a weapon, like a tool which commanded respect. A single runic symbol was carved into the flat of the guard at the center, and there was a different one opposite it. For all Garret knew they could mean "porridge" or "for the one who over-compensates", but he didn't care. He liked this one.

Plucking it from its ornate box, he felt the weight of the wand in his hand, a good three times heavier than any of the other wands at least, and gave it a twirl without thinking, Olivander snapped the case back and jumped back, but this time he didn't have too.  
The wand began to glow, starting at the tip and working its way down, overtop of the boy's hand and along his arm, spreading like liquid sunlight up to his shoulder and cresting like a wave, before freezing in place, and then fading as Garret twisted his arm around, awestruck, to get a better view.

"Well well well, it seems one of my wands has finally found you acceptable, more than that," and the old man's eyes moistened as he spoke, "I think my father's flight of fancy has finally found a home. Oh I wish he was alive to see this day, he would have been so happy."

Garret Cross was a mage, a wizard, a druid, a spell-caster by any name, and damn but he felt like it in this moment. It didn't matter that he didn't know any spells, the shear warmth of magic which had spread through him when he'd lifted his wand, and there could be no doubt now that it was his, in ways what far surpassed the light show and arcane armour it had spread up his arm.

It had spoken to him, almost. Not in words of course, not even in emotions really, but somehow Garret knew that this wand had been alone for a very long time. He got the impression from the wand that other people had picked it up expecting a mere tool, or at least the ability to continue using their style through it as if nothing had changed- an affront to its… sentience? Individuality? Something. Ollivander had offered it to some children as well, but they found it too heavy and cumbersome, and the wand seemed to think the same about them. And so it had rejected them, and they it, for… a hundred years? Two? A long time anyway, and he could feel the wand's joy, euphoria even, that it had at last found a partner.

"Wow." Said Garret Cross. And then "Wow" again. Once he was in a state which would allow him to pay attention to the outside world again, the wand maker continued;

"Your wand was constructed as a master-craft dueling wand. It can channel a tremendous amount of magic because it was made with two strings twisted together, rather than the usual one, and it had to be so heavy just so that it doesn't explode! It will break shields like no other wand, and I suspect that it will make them almost as well. It's a very demanding wand, some of the greatest duelists of the past three generations called it a freak, and that broke my father's heart. He thought it would never see use, feared that the life he imbued into that stave would never…" he made a quiet choking sound, and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief, leaving Garret to shuffle awkwardly. "Thank you, Mr. Cross, thank you. Please, do great things with this wand, show that my father was ahead of his time. No matter which path you go down, hold onto this wand and use it with pride."

"I will sir" Garret said, bowing respectfully and holding his wand in both hands, "Thank you! Can you teach me anything else about using it?" He asked, switching into a fencing stance and aiming generally at a now singed and glitter covered sign.

"Ah no, no no, no." The old man said, quickly stepping forward and pushing the boy's hand downwards. "That's all best saved for Hogwarts, and you should know that you aren't to be using magic outside of the school. You're not of age yet Mr. Cross."

"Oh." Said the boy, disappointed. He thought his wand was disappointed too, which reminded him of something he should have had a million questions about, but had nearly forgotten in the excitement.

"Are wands alive? I mean, I kind of feel… I don't know something… like memories and like it wants to be used and-"

"Well naturally." The ancient man said. "The wand chooses the wizard, were you not paying attention before? It is part of wand lore that wands must be granted a sliver of life and emotion, for simple matter cannot wield magic; cannot shape and feel and channel it, weaving it raw into new and splendid forms as a living mind can." Olivander's liver-spotted hands drew shapes in the air as he gazed upwards, his hands unfocused, as if listening to a private symphony. "As such a wand must be made as a mind companion to the wizard's own- and a second, magic attuned soul to turn our clumsy wading into the shore of the great sea that is magic into a focused and… well erm… I suppose you might learn all that in your latter years at Hogwarts, its too complex a lesson for first years I think." He said sheepishly.

"Not at all!" Replied Garret, "It makes perfect sense; a wand is for wizards is like a dinosaurs like Stegosaurus having another brain in their butt!* Without it they'd be all clumsy because they're so big and their brains are so small. Humans are a lot smarter than dinosaurs though, so clearly magic must be really, really big, or maybe really really complicated, but either way two brains are better than one. See I understand perfectly!

What I don't get though is how you put a brain inside a wand! I mean, you don't take it out of a mouse or something do you? No, wait, I don't think mice would be smart enough, but everything else smart has too big a brain to fit so…"

"Dear boy I have no idea what you're talking about." Said the old man, looking flustered and a little concerned, "Where ever do you get the idea that wands should have brains? "

"Well, you said they had a mind of their own? They choose a wizard? How do they do that without a brain?"

Olivander sighed. "You must not pay too much attention to what muggles say boy. You can have a mind and not have a brain, and have a brain but not a mind! Do they even teach you the basics of souls anymore? Sunday school was the one muggle invention I wish they'd pick up here, or have they put a stop to that too?"

"Oh." Said Cross, then "Oh." Again as his brain tried to update on this new information, but ran out of runtime and cashed trying to resolve his limited knowledge of magic, science, and the torah into a cohesive picture of the universe. Hundreds of questions fought for priority with no clear victor, as the silence stretched.

Olivander just sighed and ushered the child to the counter.  
Lighter by eight galleons, and still glowing (though more metaphorically than literally by now) Cross left Olivanders with the heavy box under his arm.

The old man chuckling in wonderment about the creativity of children as he closed the shop door. "A brain in their butt indeed!"

*Sadly, stegosauruses and sauropods probably did not actually have a second brain, the cavity likely being analogous to a feature in birds which stores energy-rich glycogen. We don't actually know what function this serves however. There is some evidence for distributed neural processing in animals, especially dinosaurs, via large clumps of neurons around the attachment points of limbs. This would mean that neurons all over the body, not just in the brain, contribute to its processes. This has only been seen in cockroaches and other insects however, and there is no evidence of this in larger animals. I really want to believe in butt brains though.


	6. Chapter 6: Wanded Weaseling

It had been hard enough for Molly Weasley to keep track of her children on their trip to Diagon alley in previous years when she only had to deal with Bill, Charley and Percy running around looking at all the stores, and the latter two now cunning enough to slip away to talk to girls while trying to sort out payment with the shopkeepers.

Now she had to bring all seven of them along since the Cedric Diggory was going to Hogwarts too, same year as Fred and George, and so his mother couldn't babysit the kids like she usually did.

 _The Twins, oh where did they get off to now?_ Molly thought, freezing momentarily to scan her surroundings ignoring Ginny clutching her left leg nervously, and Percy tugging on her right with a question about a new hat or something to make good impression, while Ron was…  
"Ron! Ronald don't you touch that! Put it back this instant, those are dragon scales aren't they, you know what that's worth?"

This gave Fred and George the time they needed to slip out of Madam Malkin's robes for all occasions, and would have made a dash for Gambol and Japes, the wizarding joke shop, if not for seeing a dark haired boy about their age. This would not be particularly interesting by its self, except that he was sanding in the space between a couple of storefronts holding his wand in both hands above his head, and ever so slightly radiating blue wisps which spiralled around him while fading.

"Hmm…" said Fred.

"Is he trying to cast a spell?" Asked George

"Looks like. Figure he knows any?"

"Glowing isn't he?"

Then, after a pause;

"Figure he knows he's not allowed to do that outside school?"

The Weasley twins looked at each other and knew what they had to do.

They thought such similar thoughts that actually speaking to each other was mostly a formality, much like thinking in words to yourself; useful to clarify your ideas, but too slow and cumbersome during sport or danger. Both twins knew that getting caught doing underage magic was a mark against that would follow you as long as you lived in Brittan; assuming you weren't expelled on the spot! They'd gotten many such lectures from their own parents after all.

For someone to be messing around with magic, probably the same day as getting their wand judging by the boy's age, was crazy! Either he knew it was against the rules and thought he could get away with it, or he was a muggle born who didn't know about the rules but was confident enough to try something (which looked flashy and complicated) immediately.

If there was one trait Fred and George prized above all others it was courage; they were going to be Gryffindors after all. This kid had some guts, and they weren't about to let the authorities knock the spirit out of him!

They darted across the street, dodging through the foot traffic in unison, George's final leap over a box of discounted cauldrons shocking the boy out of his trance, spinning around, eyes startled, holding his wand out in front of him in a defensive stance.

"Whoa whoa!" Said George, putting his hands up and skidding to a stop.

"Easy there mate." Said Fred, adopting an identical stance just beside him. "You know you're not supposed to be doing that don't ya?"

"Sorry what?" Said the boy, confused, then looking at his wand "Oh that? Yea, Olivander said, but everyone here's doing magic aren't they?"

"Yea, difference is you're under aged." Said Fred, pointing an accusatory finger.

"And so I'm afraid we're going to have to place you under arrest friend." Said George, catching on and taking up the mirror image stance of his brother. Neither of them could resist the opportunity for a prank.

"What?!" Said the boy indignantly, putting his hands on his hips. "But you're just kids like me! You can't arrest anyone!"

"That's where you're wrong," said Fred. "See we're a crack pair of Aurors just polyjuiced to look like kids." Taking a step forward and trying to loom.

"Right he is, we're undercover to crack down on kids like you." Said George, also attempting to loom and trying to make his voice go deep. "Now you'll have to hand over your wand show me your hands." At the same time Fred reached out for the kid's wand.

"Polyjuice? I bet that isn't even a real thing! I'm not handing anything over." Said the other boy, pocketing his wand and shifting into a balanced stance, fists up guarding his head.

This was too much; to a wizard martial arts was roughly the equivalent slap-fighting to muggles, and the twins doubled over in laughter. The other boy was little cross about it, but was grinning slightly.

"Oh man, sorry about that, couldn't resist; Name's Fred, and this is my brother George. We were just messing around, but you really ought not to do that."

"Yea, the ministry takes underage magic pretty seriously. Charlie, our older brother-"

"one of them."  
"Second oldest, got busted for it in second year, and it was all dad could do to get it brought down to a fine."

"Could of got expelled though, and we never let him forget it."  
"Ya, and mum near hexed his ears off for it. Oh, never got your name by the way."

Caught up in this new information and the boys contagious good nature, even if he was still a bit embarrassed, he found himself steered between the pair of them back onto the street.

"Garret Cross, at your service." with a slight bow.

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASELY GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!" Came a shrill bellow from somewhere across the street.

All three boys knew well the sound of a stern mother who didn't as yet know as yet the location of her quarry, and so as one they bolted down the street, Garret quickly pulling on one of the twin's robe to pull him into Flourish and Blots.

"FRED! GEORGE! Oh you boys!" came the fading calls form outside as they all crouched out of view of the window behind some bookcases.

"Good thinking!" Said George between breaths,

"She'll never look for us in a book shop!" Finished Fred, respect clear in his voice.

"Yup. Oldest trick in the book, er, shop." Said Cross, trying to play it off as part of his plan, scratching the back of his head nervously.

The twins giggled at the poor joke despite themselves. After all, if a bad joke makes you laugh, how bad is could it be? "So Garret aye, you just got your wand did you?"

"Yup, have you guys?" he asked.

"Not yet" George replied. "How's it feel? I mean I've tried my brother's a little, but its like a boot what's too big."  
"Or too small in Percy's case." Fred sniggered.

"It's kind of hard to explain…" Said the boy, pulling his wand out again and looking into it like a seer staring into a crystal ball. "… Its like, I don't know, telepathy kind of? Like a good handshake in your, in your soul I guess? But mostly like, along your arm."

He struggled to express the feeling running his left hand up his right arm, and seeing that he wasn't getting through to the twins he sagged a bit.

"That's alright." Said Fred. "We'll see soon enough. Olivander's got wands for everyone doesn't he?" Although it was supposed to be a statement it ended as a question somehow.

Throughout history when magical twins were born, one was often killed immediately (it was decided by chance) because of the connection they sometimes had, or the ability to impersonate one another could cause no end of mischief. It often did in plays, where at the last moment the mother couldn't bring herself to kill the other twin, and mealy banishes him to return as an evil (or good) doppelganger in the third act. There are also a number of strange magic rituals which, so it's said, require the sacrifice of a pair of twins, or some spells which cast upon one will unerringly affect the other. Of course the Weasley family would not hold with such a barbaric practice for the sake of some dusty old stories, but because of their prevalence magical identical twins were nearly unheard of.

"Of course he's got wands for everyone!" Said Garret. "Have you seen his shop? Its floor to ceiling boxes! Look at mine; it's got this sword guard thing right?" He said leaning in close and holding it to give them a better view. "That's because its one Mr. Olivander's father made like a hundred years ago or something, and I think it was waiting for me all that time."

"Yea, that is weird." said Fred.

"But in a good way." said George.

"So you tried a bunch of them did you?" asked Fred

"Yea, said Garret. Each one different from the last, most of 'em didn't like me much, but there's so many of them there I figure there must be a different wand for each different person in the whole world!"

The twins nodded, but couldn't shake a kind of voiceless nervousness. Of course they were remarkably similar being twins, but it felt like it was more than that. Having talked about it they often thought the same things at the same time, and knew that form the outside they were interchangeable, they might as well be the same person. But if that was the case, who would have made two of the exact same wand? Would only one of them be able to find a wand that worked properly?


End file.
